Summer of Bean

I don’t remember my dreams very often and when I do, I rarely write them down or ponder them.  I had one this morning which seems pregnant with meaning, but what?

Dig:

I’m at the casino and sit down at the slot machine.  On my first pull I win $1,000.  I turn to my friend (Pete?) and at once celebrate my good fortune and chastise myself for not having risked more more.  Had I risked my entire $25 investment in the machine on that first pull, I would have won $25,000.

I immediately cashed out of the machine and took my winning ticket to the cashier.  I asked for 9 $100 bills and and 5 $20s.

Everything is fine up until here, right?  Well get this.  The cashier counts back my money, which I pocket, and then hands me a remaindered copy of a Vonnegut book.  Don’t ask me the title, I don’t know.  The book is a cheap paperback with no spine, just the pages.  The cashier apologizes for the condition of the book and says the first eight chapters are all in order, but the last one is pretty jumbled up.

I look, and he’s right.  The pages of the last chapter are all out of order.  As I tried to put them back together, I woke up.

So what do we have here?  We’ve got found money.  We’ve got a tinge of regret for not having risked more in order to get a bigger reward.  And we have a book which is in bad but readable condition except for the last chapter.  What the heck?

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